But my hands were tied behind my back.

I had to find a way to reach it once I was alone.

The van turned sharply, throwing me against the side panel again.

I heard the hum of tires changing from city streets to gravel.

We were climbing a hill.

The drive felt like it lasted hours, though it was likely only thirty minutes.

Finally, the vehicle slowed down.

I heard the heavy squeak of metal gates opening.

The van rolled forward a few more yards, then came to a complete stop.

The engine cut out.

The sliding door opened, and the damp, clean air of the countryside drifted through the hood.

It smelled of pine trees and wet earth.

“Get her up,” a voice ordered.

Rough hands grabbed my shoulders, hauling me out of the van.

My feet dragged on a smooth stone driveway.

I was led up a flight of wide stairs.

The sound of rain faded as we walked inside a building.

The air was warm here, smelling of expensive wax and polished wood.

“Is she secured?” a new voice asked.